by Danielle Deulen | Sep 17, 2018 | Lit from the Basement
Obedience, or the Lying Tale by Jennifer Chang I will do everything you tell me, Mother. I will charm three gold hairs from the demon’s head. I will choke the mouse that gnaws an apple tree’s roots and keep its skin for a glove. To the wolf, I will be pretty...
by Danielle Deulen | Sep 9, 2018 | Lit from the Basement
The Explosive Expert’s Wife by Shara Lessley Sky Gate: the abandoned observatory at Wadi Rum The astronaut’s suit smells like spent gunpowder, the magazine says, meaning the moon is the after- math of war, or perhaps it’s the scent of satellites orbiting long-dead...
by Danielle Deulen | Aug 30, 2018 | Lit from the Basement
White, White Collars by Denis Johnson We work in this building and we are hideous in the fluorescent light, you know our clothes woke up this morning and swallowed us like jewels and ride up and down the elevators, filled with us, turning and returning like the spray...
by Danielle Deulen | Aug 29, 2018 | Lit from the Basement
Researchers Find Mice Pass On Trauma to Subsequent Generations by Lisa Fay Coutley Even before I was born, before my father took my mother’s head in his hands, her black curls like sprockets sprung from his palms, & held her face under the lukewarm water of our...
by Danielle Deulen | Aug 29, 2018 | Lit from the Basement
Those Winter Sundays by Robert Hayden Sundays too my father got up early and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold, then with cracked hands that ached from labor in the weekday weather made banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him. I’d wake and hear the cold...
